Letter

My illustrated version of Moby Dick is off to the printers so I’m on to the next thing. I enjoyed working on that one enough to throw the bucket in a similar well. Another public domain classic crying out for a redesign and some drawings that can, at least obliquely, refer to our horrible historic moment.

Sinclair Lewis was once a very big deal but is mostly forgotten today. He wrote a series of bestsellers in the 1920s and was the first American to win the Nobel in literature. He may be best remembered today for It Can’t Happen Here, a novel that imagines a fascist being elected president. That’s too on the nose even for me.

I was tempted to choose Elmer Gantry, his portrait of a demagogue preacher, but there’s a very good movie version with Burt Lancaster. It would be a distraction and maybe too much of a hurdle not to draw that antihero as Burt.

I’ve read Babbitt a couple times. George Babbitt might be Lewis’s most enduring and resonant character. An empty suit whose one concern is how he’s judged by others. At one time his surname was widespread enough to become a noun synonymous with hollow materialism. The idea fits these times very well, I think.

I’d donated my 1922 hardcover of the novel to Tangible when I gutted my library. A couple weeks ago I found it on the shelf and took it home. I made a couple drawings in ballpoint like the Moby Dick ones, then tried sumi ink, finally settled on pencil.

I think this one will go straight out to Amazon. Quick and dirty. Available everywhere. It’s the opposite of my approach to books up to now. Maybe this one and Moby will make some impact.

Feels like I’m making a pact with the devil but that’s what the times call for. I’m done fighting it. All that’s left is to watch the parade of horribles swagger by.

A guy writes asking if I can Uber over a Frank Lloyd Wright book from my eBay store. He’s in Chicago on business and doesn’t wanna wait for it to be shipped. The book is the famous architect’s manifesto about how to build a home in tune with nature. The guy wants to do the same. He lives in LA but dreams of building a house for his young family out in the middle of nowhere.

I write back that I’m in LA so I can’t do what he asks. I open my phone and see that he’s left me a voicemail. After looking at my eBay store, he started looking through the books I publish and through my artwork. He’s very excited.

The voicemail goes on to say that he produces a podcast for Armie Hammer, WHO’S NOT A CANNIBAL, and that they’d love to have me on.

This is a lot to take in but I’m intrigued enough to call him back. We make plans to meet when I return to Chicago.

I hang up a bunch of drawings, paintings, and collages, lay out my books, and wait.

He’s a very enthusiastic young man. He talks fast and has many many ideas. He buys four books and a collage. Says he’ll set up a call with Armie, then they’ll fly me out to tape the show. Hammer’s getting acting jobs again so it may be awhile. I wish the young man safe travels as I walk him out to the Uber waiting to take him to Midway.

All this triggered by a $3 paperback I found at the Unique down the street. What a world.

I remember seeing Blue Velvet at the Harvard Square Theatre when it came out. There was a woman on my row having a panic attack, not knowing or understanding what she was watching or what was coming next. Then, a few years later, Twin Peaks came on TV and it was the only thing worth turning a TV on for. There are few filmmakers anywhere near mainstream entertainment who had the impact David Lynch did. There won’t be another like him coming down the pike anytime soon.

LA is mostly sitting in traffic.

My first day here I get stuck in gridlock on Santa Monica Boulevard between two art supply stores. I see the fire burning just north of there before turning east. I need mural paint and stupidly don’t check whether the first store stocks it before driving out. Now I’m sitting here watching traffic lights turn yellow, red, and green several times over before making it through a block.

The house is many miles from the fires but all social plans I’ve made have been canceled because of it. I’m getting off easy. I hear my parents and my brother and sister-in-law talking about awful pictures and video and stories of movie star homes burnt to nothing. I haven’t seen or heard a thing myself. I don’t follow the news.

At dinner one night, my brother asks if I feel better ignoring current events and I don’t know how to answer. It’s what I feel I have to do in order to function. I say that short of helping people evacuate or riding on a fire truck the information and images of this disaster being in my head wouldn’t serve any purpose to anyone.

I’d done a lot of work to prepare ahead of time but painting the wall is still a challenge. It’s by far the biggest picture I’ve ever made and stucco’s not paper or canvas.

After the first day, I’m not sure whether I can pull it off; on the second day, I find some sort of rhythm. All the research and sketches aren’t necessarily evident in the final result but that’s to be expected. I don’t generally make things with a guide map or strategy. I like to discover the thing while I’m in it.

I’ve never gone snorkeling or scuba-diving. I don’t have a particular interest in the ocean deep. This is a commissioned picture made for a baby girl whose mother works in aquariums. I hope the girl gets something out of what I’ve made.

It feels like a reach. Time will tell.